


bingbing sis, i have made a mistake

by zhujungjungting (runswithchopsticks)



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), Produce 101 (TV), 乐华七子NEXT | NEX7, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, this story is centered around a really bad pun lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runswithchopsticks/pseuds/zhujungjungting
Summary: “Unfortunate,” Justin notes. He prods at Chengcheng in the chest with an index finger. “You are never to come into my bed. You’re too long to fit in it.”(Where really, Justin just bullies Chengcheng a lot.)





	bingbing sis, i have made a mistake

**Author's Note:**

> HUUEUEUEUHUEE I'M FINALLY HERE WITH THE CHENGSTIN  
> GO SCREAM @ VINA SHE'S THE ONE WHO TOLD ME TO WRITE THIS LDFSFJKJD
> 
> anyways we pushed out eng subs for the first ep quite ahead of schedule which was AMAZING holy crap i was sweating waking up at 4am just to watch the episode and sub but we got it done!!
> 
> by the way, you just need to know one thing to fully understand the terrible pun in this story: the chinese word for "long" is 长, pronounced chǎng.

_start._

* * *

“Ge!”

That’s really the only warning Chengcheng ever gets before Justin assaults him in some way, shape, or form, whether physically, verbally, or emotionally. _He’s a meanie,_ Chengcheng thinks, _he’s a meanie in the form of a boy whose only meal is teenage hormones and black sesame paste_ \-- not like it’s any different for Chengcheng though, because really, there is an abundance of instant black sesame lying around their dorm after the supermarket had a sale and Wenjun was the unfortunate one who had to go grocery shopping.

At the moment, Justin is trying to stick his face into the burrows of Chengcheng’s coat, because they’re supposedly at the park for a picnic (which was entirely Zhengting’s idea -- no one else in their group gives a flying rat’s ass about trying to sufficiently absorb non-artificial vitamin D or breathe in oxygen that isn’t produced by the stray houseplant in the doorway). Chengcheng couldn’t care less--he normally would be trying to shrug Justin off of him--but at the moment, he’s rather occupied frowning at the trail of ants crawling across the wooden table and hoping they don’t go near his food, because he doesn’t want bugs in his food, but he is simultaneously unsure of how he’d feel if he killed them.

“What are you thinking about?” Justin asks innocently.

“If I should kill the ants or not,” Chengcheng replies.

“I don’t think you should kill them,” Wenjun says, sliding into his seat across from the other two. He has a watermelon slice on his plate. It is autumn. Where in the world did he get the watermelon? Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because the trail of ants immediately veer towards his plate. “Nevermind, maybe you should kill them,” Wenjun adds.

“You can do it, ge,” Chengcheng says. “You’re the one with the watermelon.”

“Where did you get watermelon? I don’t remember Zhengting-ge ever saying he brought watermelon.”

“No.” Wenjun shakes his head. “Zeren and I bought some but we never told him. Please do not tell him.” He nods quietly, and picks up his slice from the plate. “It was expensive.”

Justin just sighs, his breath hot on Chengcheng’s neck. Lovely. “Why are you hanging off of me?” Chengcheng asks, narrowing his eyes.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t,” is Justin’s answer.

Chengcheng just turns his head away, staring at his half-eaten sandwich. In the background, he can hear the sound of chains squeaking as it rubs against metal. It’s probably coming from the swingset behind him. Zeren is likely on it, Chengcheng assumes, trying to reenact his childhood memories. Chengcheng would have never thought his ge would be the type to want to go on the swingset--Zeren was, after all, the one that most strongly rejected the idea of picnicking, and everybody knew it was because he’d rather awkwardly pile into the single-person recliner with Wenjun and watch bad wartime movies with him--but if the fact that his favorite music included abominations (or masterpieces, depending on who you are) like Little Apple and the Meow Mix theme song said anything, then it very much screamed that through the strictly professional and holy exterior of Ding Zeren, there is definitely a layer of immaturity and childishness underneath that manifests itself in the odd laughing Chengcheng hears the moment after.

“Ge, hold my hand,” Justin says, and Chengcheng is already uncurling his fingers from having been buried in the sleeve of his jacket. “Your fingers are long,” Justin notes -- Chengcheng doesn’t think his fingers are long, but Justin always says so otherwise. He links their hands together and buries them into the folds of their jackets, for they’re pressed up right next to each other. At this point in the day, the only thing warm Chengcheng feels is Justin’s palm. The wind is blowing, the sandwich that is half-eaten hadn’t been toasted, and despite what Zhengting said, even though the sun is out, it is bleak and shy, hiding behind the clouds, most definitely doing nothing to warm up Chengcheng, and he bets that he’s not even getting much vitamin D anyways.

He’s quite sure his vitamin intake is sufficient in the first place, or at least the label on that jar of vitamin gummies Wenjun bought says so. He remembers that one weekend, he forgot he’d already eaten two gummies in the morning, and so he ate another two in the night, but then the next day he’d woken up with oddly painful thighs and calves. Upon researching his symptoms on the internet, he could’ve either had a blood clot or have overdosed on calcium. He’d concluded it was the latter, and therefore that meant that the at least the 200% daily value of calcium per serving labeled on the bottle of gummies wasn’t lying. After all, fast forward to now, and his legs are still quite intact and functioning.

The rest of the picnic goes by mundanely. Somehow Chengcheng ended up pushing Justin on the swings, which is a little odd because Justin is probably 65% leg and therefore he’d practically had to bring his knees up to his chest in order to not have his feet drag into the sand below him. Zeren tried to get Wenjun to trade places on the swing with him (Wenjun had reluctantly agreed to push him after some convincing), but the latter immediately refused because he saw how much sand Justin was already kicking up, and being taller than him, he was not anticipating getting grains in his socks and walking around for the rest of the week wondering if there is still sand in his shoes or he’s just paranoid and imagining things.

Xinchun, Zhengting, and Quanzhe had fun chasing each other up and down the playset. It’s not like there was much chasing going on, to be honest, because the entire thing is designed for people who are less than half of their size and probably a fourth of their weight. Chengcheng had, at one point, said that he felt a bit old because he remembered how he used to be scared about sitting on the top of the monkey bars as it was so high up, until Zhengting gave him a look that basically deepened the gap between the souls of the eldest and the third youngest. Chengcheng knows _nothing_ about being the designated grandpa of the group. When Chengcheng was born, Zhengting was already having fun learning the differences between triangles, circles, and squares.

* * *

Later into the night, Chengcheng hears it again.

“Ge!”

It’s only a short moment before Justin is clamoring on top of him and trying to reach into the bag of sunflower seeds Chengcheng has in his hands. With a daydreamy smile on his face, Chengcheng absentmindedly angles the opening of the sunflower seed bag to allow Justin to reach inside, and the latter makes a satisfied noise as he makes himself comfortable with a leg draped over Chengcheng.

“Why are you watching this?” Justin asks. “This is the Peanuts Movie, ge. I thought you disliked cartoons.”

“No, I love cartoons,” Chengcheng says.

“Are you sure?” Justin narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Even if you like cartoons, this is the Peanuts Movie, ge. I thought you were here watching World War II movies with Zeren-ge and Wenjun-ge.”

“I’m watching this to support jiejie. You know she voices a character in it,” Chengcheng replies easily.

“Lies,” Justin hums. “You are just too proud to admit that you have a soft spot for Peanuts.”

“Hmph.” Chengcheng sets down the bag of sunflower seeds. “Fine, if you’re going to bully me, I’m going to go take a n--”

“No, no, nevermind, please, I’ll support your jiejie. Let’s watch the Peanuts Movie together.” Justin latches onto Chengcheng’s wrist, pulling him down, and Chengcheng just flops back into his seat on the couch.

“Please don’t tell anybody I am watching the Peanuts Movie,” Chengcheng says, a minute later. He spits a sunflower seed shell into the bowl balanced on his thigh. “Nobody was supposed to find me watching the Peanuts Movie.”

“Okay, I won’t tell,” Justin laughs, and he presses his cheek against Chengcheng’s shoulder. “It’s our secret.”

Chengcheng sighs. This is probably the 31st thing he’s asked Justin to not tell anyone. Justin just somehow has a knack for catching Chengcheng off-guard and in unexpected situations. There was one Saturday where Chengcheng had finally garnered enough confidence to figure out how to use the washing machine and dryer (really, the concept of actually having to go to the den and dump clothes into a machine was rather foreign to him, as he had never been the one to do it his entire life), and after he’d taken the laundry out of the dryer he’d had terrible trouble trying to fold the socks. Justin had walked in and found him sitting on the floor with random balls of socks scattered about as he was trying to tuck the ankles and toes in the right way so the pairs wouldn’t lose each other.

Justin had _laughed_ at him, and Chengcheng threatened to weep, so Justin immediately dropped to his knees and crawled over and took the pair of socks from Chengcheng’s hands and showed him how to properly fold them (well, it’s not like Justin is good at folding socks, his tucking is still awkward and most of his finished products look more or less like moth balls than pairs of socks). They’d spent their morning like that, folding socks. Justin had, of course, promised not to tell anyone about Chengcheng’s failure at one of the most simple tasks in the world.

During the time, Justin had held up occasional pairs of socks, asking whose they were. There were plaid ones that were Wenjun’s, cat-print ones that were Quanzhe’s, neon striped ones that were Xinchun’s, and then he held up a solid black pair, material rather thin and cottony, but what was most striking about them was their length.

“This is quite long,” Justin had said. “Ah, you don’t think any of our geges have snuck in a girl or something, right?”

“Those aren’t long enough to be stockings,” Chengcheng pointed out, “and besides, those are mine, Justin.”

“Yours?” Justin raised his eyebrows. He turned around, scooting over to Chengcheng’s outstretched legs. “Oh, your feet are long indeed, ge.”

“What--” Chengcheng begin, alarmed, “-- _long?!_ ”

“Yes, long.” Justin nodded. He’d promptly returned to Chengcheng’s side and grabbed another pair of socks to fold, as if he’d never said anything or that noting someone’s feet were long was quite a plausible statement in casual conversation.

Chengcheng didn’t bother to ask questions. He settled for averting the subject to Quanzhe’s newest fascination with ferrets, and Justin chimed in immediately about how ferrets don’t quite fit gege’s personality, he should stick with hamsters like he always has.

Well, that Saturday had ended with Justin pointing out that Chengcheng’s ankles were long as well as the latter had been soaking his feet in a small tub of hot water before going to bed.

* * *

The next time Justin calls him “long”, it is when he is looking at Chengcheng’s neck while putting on a necklace for him. “You are long, ge,” Justin says, as he is clasping the piece of jewelry.

“‘Long’?” Chengcheng echoes. “Don’t you mean my neck is long?” He does admit, his neck is rather long. Sometimes he looks at himself in the mirror and thinks he resembles a bobblehead. And besides, at this point, he thinks Justin has called almost every part of his body ‘long’.

“No, you are just long, ge,” Justin cheekily replies. He leans forward, resting his chin on Chengcheng’s shoulder. “But it’s okay, being long is how I can spot you easily whenever we’re in the airport.”

“Wenjun-ge is 187,” Chengcheng points out. “I’m only 182.”

“But Wenjun-ge is just big in general. You are larger vertically than horizontally.”

Chengcheng laughs, smiling at his reflection in the mirror. “I guess you could put it that way,” he says, “but that’s definitely a weird way to describe me.”

“Mmm,” Justin hums, and he sticks his face into the side of Chengcheng’s neck, taking in a breath. “But if you weren’t long, I wouldn’t be able to fit my face in your neck.”

“Of all things you could say about me being long, you say that you like that I’m long because _you can put your face in my neck?_ And not because I can reach far underneath the couch whenever you drop a ring down there or something?” Chengcheng asks incredulously.

“You act like you’ve never stuck your face in my neck too,” Justin points out.

“That wasn’t my point,” Chengcheng murmurs, his voice trailing off, because Justin is already tugging him backwards and onto the couch, where he proceeds to stick his face in Chengcheng’s neck again. Chengcheng wonders if he has ever seen any of his geges doing this. Zeren and Wenjun act like cuddling is a thing that does not exist, even though it is routine for them to oddly pile on top of each other and squish into the single recliner in the living room to watch movies. It’s probably just pride, Chengcheng thinks. At least he is not hypocritical enough to scowl at Xinchun when he walks into the living room and looks at the two tangled on the couch with a look that says, _this again?_

“You should just switch rooms,” Xinchun offhandedly says. “Given Zeren to Quanzhe or something.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Justin asks. “Gege would be mad if we suddenly switched rooms and he didn’t get to kick Zhengting-ge out of his spot.”

Xinchun shrugs. “Well, it isn’t like we can do anything about Zhengting-ge. We’d have to disassemble his bookshelf in order to move him, and nobody wants to do that. It’s practically heavy enough that it would survive even through an earthquake.”

“Wenjun-ge can move then,” Chengcheng pipes up.

“Then we’re going to have to reshuffle the entire sleeping arrangement,” Xinchun points out, a hand on his hip. “This is why we all agreed to not move rooms in the first place, remember?”

“Mmm,” Justin hums, “okay, whatever.” He sighs, lolling his head to the side. Whatever show is on TV drones on, the volume too low for anyone in the room to pick up clearly on its contents.

“I think we’ll just settle for squeezing two or three onto twin-sized beds for the rest of our lives,” Chengcheng murmurs.

“Unfortunate,” Justin notes. He prods at Chengcheng in the chest with an index finger. “You are never to come into my bed. You’re too long to fit in it.”

Xinchun snorts at his comment. “Too long,” he echoes, “you know, that makes perfect sense. If I were asked to describe Cheng-di in one word, I would probably choose ‘long’ too.”

Chengcheng opens his mouth to protest -- “long” is still such an odd adjective to add to the list of vocabulary people have used to describe him. There’s obvious things like _tall, handsome, regal,_ but has there ever been anything like _long?_

Xinchun tsks, shaking his head. “You both are long in general.” He nods at his statement.

“That’s only because you’re jealous that I’m basically your height but five years younger than you. Nobody notices how tall you are until they basically stand right in front of your face,” Justin retorts.

“Xinchun-ge is just annoyed because nobody ever stops him in the street and asks him if he’s a model,” Chengcheng adds, agreeing. His face is completely placid, but on the inside, he is grinning smugly. It’s rare he ever gets to poke fun at his geges, but Justin does it all the time, and he finds it easy to follow his friend’s footsteps.

“Hey!” Xinchun cries, his face scowling, “That’s not it! It’s just because unlike you guys, I _don’t_ look like I can round table people at my will. Especially _you,_ Cheng-di, our images are nothing alike. You’re too foreboding-looking.”

“‘Foreb--’” Chengcheng begins, but at that moment, Zhengting pops his head around the doorway.

“Please be quiet,” he hisses, “I am over here trying to read.”

“Oh,” Xinchun murmurs, and he laughs, smiling sweetly. “Sorry, ge.”

Zhengting turns his head to the two youngest. “No more arguing,” he says. “Cheng-di _is_ too long. But you are too, Justin, just not as long as Chengcheng.”

“Hah--” Xinchun begins, with a laugh, but Zhengting shushes him.

“Xinchun is just too nice-looking to be a model. Nowadays they want guys that look scary, like Chengcheng.”

“I am _what?_ ” Chengcheng begins at the same time Xinchun narrows his eyes and growls, “Go back to reading, gege.”

Zhengting sighs, retreating back down the hallway. The sound of his slippers against the carpet is ominous, and the three in the living room stare at each other oddly.

“Goodbye,” Xinchun says, after a long pause. “Have fun being long with each other.” He offers a half-hearted wave, and Justin scowls in his wake.

“I can’t help that I’m long,” Chengcheng says quietly, folding his hands in his lap. “I was born long, you see. Do you think I am _that_ long and scary like our geges say?”

“Not at all scary,” Justin hums, holding onto one of Chengcheng’s arms. His voice is right next to Chengcheng’s ear, and Chengcheng feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. “But long is quite right, like I said. Long. _Chang._ ”

Chengcheng rolls his eyes. “Thanks,” he says, “but I hope that’s not something you’ll call me on a regular basis. Or maybe then I have to find something stupid to call you too.”

“Really,” Justin prompts, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think calling you ‘long’ would be considered stupid.” He pouts, frowning. “But what kind of ‘stupid’ thing were you thinking of calling me?”

To be truthful, Chengcheng had nothing in his head. He is quite uncreative when it comes to these things. He doesn’t have any particular nicknames for any of his family members. Bingbing is just jiejie to him, his geges are geges and Justin and Quanzhe are his didis. That’s all.

“Maybe I’d call you a sesame twist,” Chengcheng reasons.

“Why?”

“Because all the hair colors you’ve cycled through are some variation of the color of a sesame twist. And you are spindly like one, too.”

Justin throws his head back, laughing. “That’s not stupid, though,” he points out. “It actually sounds cute. _Mahua._ ”

Chengcheng grimaces. He’s done the opposite of what he intended. “Really?” he asks. “ _‘Mahua_ -di’?”

“We are close enough,” Justin states. “Why are you calling me didi again?”

“Now you’re just trying to avoid the topic of me calling you a _mahua,_ ” Chengcheng says, crossing his arms and frowning. “I bet you really do think it’s stupid-sounding.”

“No--” And then Justin gasps. “But this is all just because you’re trying to get me to not call you ‘long’, isn’t it!”

Chengcheng groans, slapping his hands on his face and rubbing them. He just wants to curl up in a ball at that moment, but obviously there is not enough space for that because Justin is squishing him against the armrest of the couch. Nonetheless, he still attempts to bring his knees up to his chest, knocking Justin away with the bottoms of his feet. In the background, he can hear something that sounds vaguely like Zhengting yelling, and Chengcheng thinks he needn’t yell because the walls are already very thin.

Justin still nonetheless tries to fit Chengcheng into the corner of the couch in his rolled-up state, and when Xinchun walks in again to see why in the world Zhengting is upset, he sighs. It seems illogical to him -- this is a three-person couch, Justin and Chengcheng needn’t squish as if they were Wenjun and Zeren trying to fit on to the recliner together. But he supposes, maybe it is for the good of the community, because now Xinchun can leisurely extend his legs while he lays down and lazily flicks through channels on the television. His feet will remain warm, because he will put the soles of them against Justin’s thigh. Perfect.

* * *

It isn’t long before the next time Justin outright says he is long. It has become his favorite adjective to use around Chengcheng, and Chengcheng doesn’t mind it terribly -- _terribly._ He _does_ mind it, because ‘long’ is such an odd word and it makes him feel like he is indeed a piece of rope or something. Oh, or maybe those rolls of dough that are stretched out a meter or two across so that bakeries can bake bread in big batches. Yes, Chengcheng has just compared himself to bread.

They are just sitting there in the dance studio for today, because Zeren had finished his newest choreography piece with Zhengting’s help, and the two are going over what they had written down in a notebook. Chengcheng does not think he is _as_ dance-illiterate as Justin likes to say he is -- he swears it’s just because he is not used to dancing a lot, and that is why it he can’t exactly just see a choreography and already have a few moves memorized. “Look at Wenjun-ge,” he once said, waving his arm around in Wenjun’s direction. “He can’t dance very well either.”

“But gege is here purely because he sings very well,” Xinchun said, eyeing Chengcheng teasingly. “You are supposed to be able to dance as well as rap because your singing ability is equivalent to one of a rock.”

“A rock!” Justin cried, and he fell to the floor in a fit of laughter, and Chengcheng spent the rest of the day looking at himself in the mirror doing different arm movements and wondering what a rock sounded like.

For now, he is just attempting to go through the stretches that Zhengting taught him. He’s still as inflexible as ever in the hamstrings, unable to touch his toes without bending his knees, and Quanzhe looks at him smugly before bending down and practically slamming his forehead onto the wooden floor (not that he did, but he is only a couple of centimeters away from doing so).

“Is there a flip in this choreography?” Chengcheng asks, glancing at Zhengting and Zeren nervously.

“Yeah, but you’re definitely not going to be the one doing it,” Xinchun says. “Don’t look so worried, Cheng-di.”

Chengcheng sniffs awkwardly. It took him a while to get used to Zhengting’s overzealous acrobatics in their choreographies. Zhengting likes to show off a lot, and that often boils down to him somersaulting about half a meter away from Chengcheng’s face. It used to be Justin who bore the brunt of the tornado of air in front of his nose, but after rearranging a few things they’ve decided to try pushing Chengcheng as a center for once.

Well, Zhengting and Zeren’s new piece is as tiring as ever, and Chengcheng gets to do more swag hand signals, because that’s apparently the dance move he is best at. He doesn’t mind -- in fact, he enjoys it. Swag hand signals are cool, and they make him feel like a better rapper. It’s great that Zhengting and Zeren decided he can start off the choreography with them.

But swag hand signals are also tiring, and Chengcheng is spent an hour in. He collapses on the studio floor, and he knows for sure there’s probably lint balls stuck to the sweaty ends of his hair, but Quanzhe is giggling about pouring water on him so he supposes he’ll just end up covered in lint balls and bits of dirt no matter what he does.

Xinchun and Quanzhe prance off towards the mirrors, making funny poses at each other and sticking their tongues out. Zeren is still offhandedly chatting with Zhengting, and Wenjun is in a corner reading something off of his phone. Justin is the only one left with Chengcheng, and Chengcheng sighs again, staring up at the studio lights. It is silent except for muted chatter and Xinchun’s giggly laughter.

Justin is standing over Chengcheng, sipping from a bottle of water.

“I don’t like dancing,” Chengcheng says.

“Too bad, you’re supposed to dance,” Justin replies. “Would you rather sing?”

“No, and besides, the manager won’t let me sing even if I wanted to.”

Justin screws back on the cap to his water bottle as he laughs. “You aren’t the worst singer in the world. You just have a… rather specific range in where you sound okay.”

“Thanks for the reassurance,” Chengcheng mutters, rolling over onto his side. He feels his cheek wetly stick to the wooden floor. Gross.

“Anyways,” Justin murmurs, nudging Chengcheng with a toe, “from up here, ge, you are very long.”

“I am 182cm, I’m supposed to be long, please stop bullying me,” Chengcheng drawls, half whining, and he slides his cap off of his head and puts it on his face. Bad idea, it is damp and smells like sweat.

Justin rolls his eyes. “How am I bullying you if I am simply stating the truth?” he reasons, crossing his arms, and Chengcheng groans. “ _Chang,_ ” Justin states. “Long.” He nudges Chengcheng with a toe again. “Fan Chengcheng is _chang._ ” Chengcheng has long lidded his eyes, drowning out Justin’s voice, but when he hears silence from his friend, he immediately opens them.

Justin is trying his hardest not to shout out in laughter. His face is turning red as he grips onto his shirt with his fingers, wrinkling the cotton. “I j-just thought of the greatest thing ever,” he laughs.

“What?” Chengcheng asks suspiciously.

“Fan Chengcheng is _chang,_ ” Justin giggles, his smile wide and bright, “so basically, Fan Chengcheng is Fan _Changchang._ ”

“Oh my g--” Chengcheng begins, before he wails, “Noooo!” because it’s the most terrible pun he’s heard in his entire life. Justin is doubled over now, and he’s about to drop on his head with how hard he’s laughing. The other heads in the studio turn.

“What are you screaming for, Chengcheng?” Wenjun asks.

“He just called me Fan _Changchang!_ ” Chengcheng cries.

“That is not a lie,” Quanzhe pipes up.

Chengcheng instinctively curls up. “Please don’t ever call me that again,” he pleads, watching Justin above him still giggle without end.

“I think that’s going to be your new contact name in my phone,” Justin says, and that’s one of the last things Chengcheng wants to hear.

“You aren’t serious--” he begins, but Justin is already bounding over to where his coat lies, and he crouches down to begin digging in its pockets. “Oh my god,” Chengcheng murmurs, and he only has half a heart left after working hard at swag hand signals, so he can’t even bring himself to get up and chase after Justin.

He watches Justin tap on his phone, type in something, and before he knows it, he’s skipping back to where Chengcheng is melting into the floor and gets down on his knees.

“Ge,” he says, grinning happily, “look.”

Sure enough, instead of the usual _Fan Chengcheng,_ Chengcheng sees _Fan Changchang_ next to his contact photo.

“I want to go home,” he complains, rubbing his hands on his face, “they are bullying me here. Especially you, Justin.”

“You can’t go home, ge, we are your home,” Justin replies cheekily, and he sets his phone aside before getting on his stomach and sticking his nose right in Chengcheng’s face. “Can’t escape me either, ‘cause I’m part of your home.”

“Then I’ll ask jiejie to adopt me back,” Chengcheng murmurs, pouting. Does he really want to leave Justin and the others? No, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to play the pity card with Justin.

“Fan-jiejie is getting married soon, do you really want to ask her that?” Justin prods, laughing softly at the wince Chengcheng gives. “And besides, I know you wouldn’t really leave me.”

Chengcheng makes some incoherent and uncomfortably strained noise at the back of his throat. “I can’t be called Fan Changchang for the rest of my life,” he whispers.

“Too bad, you are now Fan Changchang. It’s been saved in my phone, and so therefore it is official,” Justin quips, clicking his tongue. He gets back on his feet, turning away to go put his phone back.

Chengcheng rolls over to his other side now, and he buries his face in his hands once again. “Bingbing-jiejie,” he whispers, “I have made a mistake.”

When Justin returns, he is sent into a flurry because Chengcheng is now rolling back and forth while murmuring, “I have made a mistake,” over and over again, and Justin hurriedly asks who in the world he has to fight, but he can’t really fight anyone on Chengcheng’s behalf, because how can you fight yourself?

* * *

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> hhhh sorry this was a terrible pun like i said but anyways this was funny to write i laughed at 2am about the peanuts movie so  
> anyways hope you enjoyed <3


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